


the devil sent this girl back

by deathsweetqueen



Series: Jagged Little Tapestry [14]
Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries & Related Fandoms, The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: BAMF Caroline Forbes, Baby Vampire Klaus Mikaelson, Blood and Violence, Caroline Forbes is an Original, Character Death, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Misogyny, Road Trips, Role Reversal, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 05:28:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11960682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathsweetqueen/pseuds/deathsweetqueen
Summary: In which Caroline saves a baby vampire and it ruins her whole Queen Bitch routine.





	the devil sent this girl back

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I think this is the most fun drabble I’ve ever return. It’s a total role reversal, so it’s Original Hybrid Caroline and baby vampire Klaus, and this Caroline was definitely the most interesting to write. By the way, there is smut in this drabble, so all you kiddies out there or just anyone uncomfortable by that sort of thing, please don’t read, I’d hate to ruin your innocence.

She waits until his vision is clear enough that he sees her standing over him.

“I apologise,” She says, gently. “Unfortunately, your friends have proven to be less than trustworthy so I thought it better if I collected you myself.”

“Collected?” His voice is thick with confusion as he slurs out his words, still not completely recovered from the warlock’s assault.

She hums her agreement and crouches in front of him so that he can look her in the eye.

He is quite beautiful. Blonde hair, curling at the roots. She has the sudden urge to twist her fingers in them, see if they are as soft as they look. Cornflower-blue eyes, a strange shade, not often seen nowadays. Cupid-bow lips, redder than her own mouth bright with lipstick. She wonders if she touched them with her own, would that colour rub off? Rough stubble that she imagines would scrape her beautifully if she allowed it.

Despite him chained to the rafters, she can see he is strong, lithe, _fierce_.

“Do you know who I am?” She asks, curiously.

“Caroline, Caroline Forbes,” His eyes set when he looks at her. “You’re trying to kill Elena.”

She clucks her tongue. “Not so simple as that, I’m afraid,” Her lips twitch. “Do you know why Elena must die?”

“Something to do with a curse on you, and her blood is the only way you can break it.”

She grimaces. Still too much of an oversimplification for her liking. “Well, yes, but it’s a little more complicated than that. And, unfortunately, I need more than just her blood.”

He frowns; it’s a smooth line on his mouth. “What else do you need?”

“A vampire and a werewolf.” She gestures to him and the werewolf – Tyler Lockwood – in the corner.

He groans and straightens. “That’s why you have me tied up.”

Caroline smooths a hand down the long line of her thigh. “Nothing personal, sweet, but Katerina gifted you to me.”

“Katerina? Oh, Katherine. The bitch.” He mutters.

She laughs and the long line of her throat is revealed to him. Surprisingly, he runs his tongue over his lower lip in response. There’s something very… _fetching_ about that neck. He wonders if she’d laugh like that if he slid his teeth onto that neck.

Though, he imagines that she would take him apart to the bone if he even tried.

“Yes, I suppose she is.” She agrees, fondly. She reaches out and fingers the cool iron of the chain. “I could free you, you know?”

“And in return?” He raises an eyebrow like he doesn’t believe her.

She almost smiles. _Smart boy._

“I’d say your first-born, but I doubt that will be happening anytime soon.” She says, dryly. “But perhaps something else you’d be willing to give.”

“Like?”

“Your company.”

He narrows his eyes. “Why?”

Her lips curve into red smile. “I’d like to get to know you better, Niklaus Mikaelson.”

His look is wary. “How do you know my name?”

She waves his concern off. “I was made aware.” She runs her thumb over her lip and watches as his eyes immediately dart towards the movement, much to her amusement. “Do you have an answer for me?”

“You won’t kill me?” He clarifies.

“No,” She shakes her head.

“What will you do for the vampire part of the sacrifice.”

She hums. “That elder Salvatore is getting on my nerves. Perhaps I’ll use him.” She pauses. “Does it matter?”

“Not really.” He replies.

Triumph and satisfaction gleam in her eyes. “Wonderful.” She croons. She reaches up and releases him from the chains with a flick of her wrist.

He scowls at it as if it had personally offended him. “You mean I could’ve done that myself?”

She grins quick. “Hardly. The chains were spelled so that only I could release someone.”

He sniffs. “Convenient.” He drawls.

“That it is.”

“So, what now?”

Caroline slides to her feet like a cat and smiles down at him, gold curling around her face, looking like an angel, but he knows better.

He’s seen the bodies.

“Now I complete the sacrifice.” She says, simply, tossing her hair back.

He stands as well, towering over just slightly, but that was expected.

No heels this time, unfortunately.

She pauses, because his answer to her next question could definitely put a damper on things.

“You are aware that I plan on killing your friend, correct?” She reminds him.

He shrugs. “She’s not my friend.”

She smiles once more and he imagines sunlight would envy her.

“Fantastic.”

* * *

Caroline kicks the doppelgänger’s corpse, staring down at the pretty face, pale from death. She looks over at the two Salvatores. Shame, she had such plans for the younger one too. But apparently love makes fools of men and the boy decided to fall on his own sword to avenge a brother who would’ve bedded the girl he loves happily. She clucks her tongue, what a waste.

The elder Salvatore is lying desiccated on the ground, parallel to the werewolf named Jules. His death could have been more splendid, but alas, she was running out of time and had no other choice, especially seeing as he offered himself so graciously.

Elena had screamed when the stake pierced Damon’s heart, practically clawing at her own face, which only made Caroline want to roll her eyes. Honestly, the girl had known the vampire barely a few months. She couldn’t have been that attached to him. Stefan, in response, had attempted to claw the chunk of wood she had shoved into his back out with his bare hands and had attacked in a whirl of fury. Was it really her fault that she had simply had her hand in his ribcage, around his heart, before he could actually touch her?

There went another one of Elena’s boyfriends.

And then it was finally Elena’s turn. She had to admire the defiance in her brown eyes when her teeth finally bore into long gossamer-white throat.

She runs a finger over the slab of stone where Elena had spilt her lifeblood and licks a still-wet line off.

The witch had tried next, but the girl was young and untrained and weak, for lack of a better word; she could only keep her down for minutes before Caroline was gouging out her insides.

After that, everything went black.

When she awoke, she was lying in the middle of the quarry, surrounded by bodies killed by her and her wolf. She ran a hand over her face and the touch feels orgasmic.

She could feel the wolf in her – all gold eyes and snarling jaw and sharp talons – clawing out from underneath the surface.

A pile of clothes is dropped at her feet. She looks up

“I brought you something to wear. Parading through the town naked may attract some unwanted attention.”

“Such a gentleman,” She teases.

She slips to her feet, shoulders thrown back, proudly. She has nothing to be shy over. Her body is glorious.

Much to her fascination, his eyes don’t drift past her face, although his mouth twitches slightly. She wonders if the stoicism would remain if she pressed all the lovely curves of her body against him and brushed her mouth against his.

Would he want to fuck her then?

But, alas, she doesn’t and she throws on whatever has brought her and that is how she finds herself at the altar where she has finally won her time in the sun, and gazes over the carnage she has dealt.

“Looks like you had fun,” He comments, approaching her.

There is not much fear in him; she doesn’t know whether to call him brave or stupid.

A lock of spun-gold is tucked behind her ear and she looks at him sideways. “What can I say? I play with my food.” She says, loftily.

He smirks; it is a cocky thing, filled with all sorts of youthful arrogance. “I can see that.” His lips turned down at the corners. He seems to only have two moods: haughty and sulking. “So, what now?”

She snatches the moonstone where it has fallen on the witch’s corpse, a casualty in her war. It has no meaning now, not when the power is there beneath her skin, but it is a keepsake nonetheless. A trophy, now.

“Now,” She smiles at him, all sweetness and triumph. “Now, we leave.”

He frowns. “Where?”

She slides into his space and she reaches up, scratching into those short curls. “Anywhere.” Her lip curls. “Unless, of course, you’ve changed your mind?”

There is just the slightest threat in her words, a warning for him to remember his end of the deal.

He shakes his head. “No, I haven’t.”

She leans in. “Good,” She breaths.

And it begins like this. An unholy agreement, sealed with a kiss.

* * *

“Why me?” He asks one day, while they’re hiking in the woods, a werewolf strung up on his back.

She had offered to carry it for him (courtesy demanded it), but he had given her such a withering look that it had her laugh and she had given in.

“You intrigue me,” She admits. “You don’t want to own me, but you don’t want to kill me either.” 

“And,” He hesitates. “It’s usually either-or with you?”

She bites down. “I’m a thousand years old, sweet. Believe it or not, men have not always acknowledged a woman’s strength.” She says, an old bitterness settling like ash in her mouth. “For some reason, men find me threatening.” She says, artfully.

He snorts. “Can’t imagine why.”

She sidelines him with an approving smile. “You flatter me,” She flirts, unashamedly.

The look he graces her with is pointed. “Not really, I’ve seen the body count you leave behind, remember?”

She shrugs. “Fair enough,” She pauses. “Does it bother you?”

“Does what bother me?”

“My fondness for indiscriminate bloodshed.” She says, deliberately.

“Oh,” He is thoughtful. “No, not really.”

She frowns. “Why is that?”

He looks at her, really looks at her, with those disingenuous cornflower-blues, and she feels that dead heart of hers stutter a little.

“I’m big on self-preservation,” The way he looks at her is eerie, like he’s staring into that mangled writhing thing that is her soul, if that’s what it could be called. “And I think you are too.”

She blinks and the moment breaks. She breaths in, sharply, and turns her head back to the woods ahead.

“I suppose you’re right.” She affirms, quietly.

* * *

They’re sitting in some backwater bar a few miles out of Tennessee.

“So, why hybrids?” He asks, curiously.

A smile flickers on her face. “Call it an interest in evolution,” She says, loftily.

He looks doubtful. “Really?”

“Yes,”

“Why?”

She stares at him through her eyelashes. “I have my reasons,”

“And what are they?”

“Why are you so interested?” She demands, eyes snapping to his.

He shrugs. “See, I think you’re running.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Running from what?”

His eyes narrow. “Who knows? But I think you’re running.”

“I’m not running, love,” She leans in, close enough to brush his mouth with his. “I’m _revelling_.” She watches the red in his cheeks with amusement, and takes a long, drag of her bourbon, knowing that he’s watching her throat flex. “What about you? Are you running?”

His lip curls, although there is something hard in his eyes. “Running from what?”

“Who knows?” She taunts. “But I can see the runaway in your eyes.” She runs a finger around the rim of her glass. “Let me guess, your father.”

She watches the moment where his heart stops from fear and his face closes off. And she knows she’s hit it right on the head.

“What makes you say that?” He asks, lightly.

“Let’s just say that I recognise the fear.” She offers, looking down into her glass.

“Is that who _you’re_ running from?”

Her smile is gentle. “No, I’m not running from anyone,” She pauses. “How much do you know about my story?” She asks, curiously.

There are many of them, that she knows. She quite likes the one where, apparently, she summoned a demon who turned her into an ungodly creature of the night, in order to avenge her broken heart. Or the one where she falls for some boy who betrayed her as boys do and uses her as part of some satanic ritual and killed her but it went wrong and she came back wrong.

She loves how they like to make her either a victim or an aggressor. As if there isn’t a middle ground. Oh, and there’s always a boy. A boy to make her look good. A dishonourable boy who makes her an empathetic character. She is a cautionary tale.

“Nothing much,” He says, simply, and looks at her as if he’s aching to dig through her mind. “Just what Elena told me.”

“Which was?”

“You used to live in Mystic Falls, a thousand years ago. Your father was a werewolf who ran from his pack and married your mother, a witch, but he never told her of his true origins. Your mother, fearing the wolves, decided to turn you into a vampire so that you would never have to fear them, but when you killed for the first time-”

“I triggered my curse,” Caroline finishes for him, swirling her bourbon. “My mother, in a fit of rage and terror, binds my werewolf side, and my father, stricken by guilt for the secret he kept from her, tries to kill me.” Her lips tighten. “But I killed him first,”

“Why?” He asks, the glint in his eyes telling her he’s thought of doing the same to his own father.

“I was a wilful girl,” The look she gives him is heavy and deliberate. “Wilful girls were not tolerated back then. And my father… he demanded obedience. I was not one for obedience.”

She doesn’t tell him of the days spent chained up like a dog for daring to borrow his blade. She doesn’t tell him about the scars on her back from when he whipped her bloody after finding her in the woods with her skirts up to her waist, some village boy rutting between her legs. She doesn’t tell him how her mother burned her hands when she refused to learn how to make chicken stew.

No, those are in her eyes and he already knows.

“That’s all she told me,” He finishes, roughly.

She hums. “I had a brother once,” She confesses and for the life of her, she doesn’t know why she’s opening up to him of all people. “An older brother.”

“What was his name?” He asks, gently, his blue-blue eyes soft.

“Lorenzo.” She whispers as if she will see his ghost now. “Enzo, I called him. The wolves, my family, they killed him.” She says, tonelessly, as if it is only a fact and not something cut into her bones, as if she doesn’t see Enzo in her dreams at night, as if she doesn’t sometimes look down at her hands and see his blood wetting them. “That was why my mother decided to turn me into a vampire. She grieved my brother and she feared the wolves _too much_.”

“She wanted to protect you.” He offers.

“Perhaps,” She concedes. “But when I became the same monster she despised, I was her enemy.” She clears her throat. “Tell me, Klaus, do you have any siblings?”

“Too many,” He tells her. “Six. Four brothers, two sisters.”

“Tell me about them,” She all but orders.

“They’re all my half-siblings,” He confesses, simply, as if it is something that hurts but he’s been forced to accept.

Caroline raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“My mother had an affair. I was the result of that affair. But she hid it from my father.” He explains, roughly. “When I was twelve, my youngest brother, Henrik. He was in a car accident. When it came to test our blood type, we found out that he couldn’t be my father.” He pauses and looks down at his drink as if it is personally offending him. “Henrik died from his injuries soon after that.”

Caroline looks at him then. “I’m sorry,” She says, and she actually means it.

He nods. “As for my siblings, I said I have-had four brothers, now three, I suppose,” He corrects. “Finn, Elijah and Kol. Finn is sycophantic. Elijah is respectable. Kol is an adrenaline junkie.” His lips twitch as if he’s fighting off the amusement. “Two sisters, Rebekah and Freya. Rebekah is fierce. Freya is protective.”

“Rebekah is your favourite,” She surmises.

He agrees. “She would like you,” He murmurs.

“Perhaps one day I’ll get to meet her.” She muses. Her lips curl at the corners. “Don’t worry, I promise not to eat her.”

He laughs at that. It’s a rich, honest laugh that warms her more than bourbon.

“I may ask you to break that promise one day.” He jokes.

“I’ll be waiting.”

* * *

It doesn’t take them that long to fall into bed, but it’s longer than she had wanted. The time comes when they’re fighting off a few vampires in a bar after they take offence to something or another that they've done (fools, they picked the wrong girl to brawl with).

Caroline dodges one arm before slicing it off at the shoulder. She takes the dislodged arm and bludgeons another, before ripping out his heart. A woman approaches from the back, makeshift wooden stake in her hand. She spins around and slams her foot into the woman’s knee dense enough that it shatters the bones in her legs, but before she falls to the ground, her head is already gone.

Time begins to slow and she’s caught in the thick of it and blood is everywhere and her hands are anchored in someone’s ribcage and when it’s finally over, she remembers Klaus and swings around, her heart catching in her throat for the first time in a thousand years, only to find him standing there, ripping a head off seamlessly.

His eyes dart to hers and blood is slick on his face, crawling to his hairline, and she imagines she’s the same. She approaches him, hips swaying, until she’s close enough to count the number of eyelashes he has, and she leans up, her tongue running across the length of his face.

He hurtles backwards, his hands hot on her waist, but his nails dig in and she kisses him finally. His mouth is damp and sweet and oh-so clever under hers and the adrenaline and lust has her curving into him. When he kisses her back, he groans slightly, as if he’s been fighting this the whole way through, and it makes her smile. She finds herself thrown onto one of the tables, Klaus looming over her, eyes hot and heady and she curls a hand behind his neck and pulls him down, so he could put his teeth on her neck like she’s been secretly dreaming of for months.

He doesn’t bite though. He wants her permission first, and she’s too busy removing that stupid Henley he’s wearing to give it. It is thrown into some unseen corner of the bar that will become a crime scene in the morning, but she couldn’t care less because he’s all sinewy and hard and _relentless_ and he’s slipping the thin straps of her top down her shoulders and putting his mouth on her breasts, which makes her gasp.

His hips are between her legs and he’s jutting forward so that she can feel the length of his cock pressing against her through too many layers of fabric, so she careens forward and her nimble fingers make for belt and zipper and she loses patience half-way, so she resorts to tearing his jeans at the seams. She slips her hand into his boxers and palms his cock as he nips at her breasts, groaning. He lifts his head and his pupils are wide-blown as he stares at her with unashamed awe when she pulls him out of his jeans and does this wicked little twist near the base of his cock.

She smiles when he can’t take his eyes off her, too consumed in the pleasure she’s giving him. _This_ is what she lives for. And it is all the sweeter when it’s Klaus Mikaelson, so much more than a mere baby vampire, looking at her like she’s the goddess she cannot be.

He growls, roughly, vampire in him coming out to play, before he shoves her back down and slides his hands up her thighs. He pops the button of her jeans, easy as pie, and slips his fingers inside, smiling smugly when she gasps, rocking her hips forward when he has her wet and wanting and warm.

“Enough foreplay,” She hisses and shoves down her jeans to her ankles.

The silk between her thighs is hardly a hurdle for him and the scraps get thrown somewhere in the bar as well. She fists his cock for him and leans forward, mouth not quite brushing his, but taunting all the same. His gaze drops from her eyes to her lips and he’s barely keeping it together, not when she’s so close and she’s got her hand on him like that and she’s looking at him like she can’t wait to eat him up and he might just let her because who was he kidding, she was the fucking queen.

“Well, sweet?” She purrs.

“Hurry,” He says through gritted teeth.

She smiles because he reminds her of a kitten, all spitting and bravado, and frankly she finds it endearing because he’s still managing to hold his own against her. She twists her hips and he’s inside her finally, and his lips find hers out of need.

For all of his seventeen years, he knows his way around a woman, and his thrusts are deliberate, making her gasp and moan, like some schoolgirl finding her first orgasm. She leaves nail-marks in the wood when one particular rock of his hips leaves her reeling, her hips meeting his in a decadent rhythm.

He tugs at a nipple with his teeth and she yanks on his hair, the pain and pleasure of it all _so good_ , and with his resounding moan, she knows it’s the same for him.

Somehow the position is wrong and in a move that could only be achieved with supernatural effort, she twists them over and bores down on him. She pins his wrists over his head and tosses back her hair, gold falling onto his chest as she rides him roughly, taking no mercy. Her back arches and she thrusts her chest forward and he breaks free of her hold, his hand sliding over the sweat-slick skin of her breasts, down her stomach, between her legs where his thumb flicks at her clit and she growls, bearing down on him with gold eyes and sharp fangs. He simply smiles at her, all cocksure and cutting, and waits it out.

Moments later, she’s seizing on top of him, thighs shaking with the force of her orgasm. He can feel her convulse around his cock, she’s sure of it. She doesn’t stop trembling for minutes, fighting the urge to claw at her face, muscles spasming of their own accord. He watches her in the midst of ecstasy, wonderstruck at the sight of this powerful-beyond-belief creature riding out her rapture on top of him. Only once she was done, she starts to twist her hips down on his once more, determined to bring him to the same completion as her.

It was only a few minutes after her first orgasm that she feels the second approach. His hips jerk upwards finally and he spills into her with a rough groan. Her second orgasm pitches through her and she muffles a scream, biting down on her lower lip until it was bleeding red, dipping down and crushing her mouth to his, which he takes gladly.

She pushes herself off him and back down on the table, which remarkably manages to stand their weight. She spans a hand down the length of his side and back up again, until her fingers are twisting in the short curls at the nape of his neck. He curves into her and she lays his head on her collarbone, raking through his hair. He takes a chance and kisses her neck, making her smile. That warmth he kindles in her is still there – she thought it would go once she got an orgasm or two out of him, but apparently not – she’ll probably have to keep him around longer.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t kill me.” He mouths at her throat.

Her laugh is breathy and she rubs her slick-wet thighs together. “Oh, but what a nice way to go.”


End file.
